


Feeling

by etherina



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Other, safe for non-pxs shippers lol, this is primarily about the stark sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 22:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherina/pseuds/etherina
Summary: My thoughts on how the Winterfell plot should end in s7 ep7 of Game of Thrones





	Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing a post on tumblr concerning the Winterfell plot I came up with this and I COULDN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT so I wrote a fic lol.  
> This is just a one-shot and will not have any more chapters, however, feel free to write a sequel or continuation of this if it interests you! Just credit me and we're good ;) 
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy<3

She hated that feeling.

Her blood was pounding in her ears, her hands shaking, her breath stuttering. It didn’t feel right to experience that again — that feeling of unexplainable fear spreading its wings inside her body. What was she afraid of?

 _Nothing. Absolutely nothing,_ she told herself firmly, but the feeling did not go away. It remained, persistent and resentful. It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

The corridors were dark and cold this time of night. No one would emerge from the comforting warmth of their chambers, for they had no reason to. She would not be caught.

She stiffened as the door unlocked with a click, the sound breaking the silence like thunder. It felt like her fear was using claws to keep itself latched inside her.

 _You know what you have to do,_ she whispered in her mind, fixating on her goal. She wouldn’t risk losing Sansa to him. She wouldn’t let him corrupt her anymore. He had done enough harm. Littlefinger deserved this.

When it was all done, Arya could piece her family back together. She could make sure Sansa didn’t want to overthrow Jon, like Littlefinger wanted her to. She could make it right.

And yet, for a long time, she did not move. Her bravery seemed to have abandoned her and she refused to acknowledge her fear. She _couldn’t_ be afraid now, especially not of him.

It was not even within the realm of possibility that she could _lose_ against _him,_ even though there were rumors that he could fight remarkably well with a dagger _._ Her mind was screaming at her that doubting her skills was ridiculous but her body wouldn’t listen.

But her anger didn’t fail her — it never did. It was like flames in her chest, licking its way down her arms, embers glowing in her clenched fists. She took a deep breath.

_Now._

_~~~_

The great hall was too loud. There were too many cheerful voices, too much laughter. Sansa couldn’t stand it.

She cleared her throat, hoping that enough people would hear her and quiet down. No one did, and all words were caught in her chest.

She sat primly in her chair at the high table, feeling lonelier than ever, and waited. The bannermen didn’t notice her withdrawn behaviour, only continued laughing at their own idiotic jokes.

She couldn’t tell how long it took before she was finally able to muster enough will to speak.

“Lords, ladies, settle down please,” she said, relieved that her voice was steady and clear, but the sudden silence almost suffocated her. She swallowed hard. “I have an announcement to make.”

All eyes were on her, full of both curiosity and suspicion, but none of them felt like _his_ eyes did. His gaze was a presence of its own. She didn’t dare to look at him. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to look away.

He was standing by the wall, like he always did, paying attention to her every move like a wolf would stalk its prey. Before, that gaze of his had almost excited her. It was a game for her — to find out what he was thinking.

But now… now everything was different. Nothing was the same.

“I called you here this evening to inform you that there is a traitor amongst us,” she stated, clenching her jaw so tightly it felt as if her teeth would shatter. There were gasps and murmurs from the crowd.

Sansa felt more than saw Petyr take a step forward. She wanted to scream.

“Lord Baelish,” she said, her voice breaking as she finally looked at him. “You murdered Jon Arryn, Hand of King Robert Baratheon; you lied and conspired to create a war between my house and house Lannister; you betrayed my father, Ned Stark, by holding a dagger to his throat; and you murdered my aunt Lysa Arryn by pushing her through the moon door.”

There was a crash somewhere in the room but Sansa did not pay attention to the commotion. All she could see was Petyr striding towards her, anger and something akin to confusion blazing in his grey-green eyes. Before he could reach her, however, Lord Royce grabbed his arm and held him back. Still, they never broke eye contact.

“WHAT? That can't be right!” he yelled, yanking his arm out of Lord Royce’s grip. The bannermen were in an uproar. 

Sansa’s vision became blurry with tears but she quickly blinked them away. _Don’t be weak now._

“You saved me more than once, but your good deeds do not erase your bad ones.” She hated how her voice wavered. She only wished she could hate him too. If she did, this would be so much easier.

She found herself repeating his words in her head, _“You loved your family. Avenge them.”_

She held back a sob. She felt so stupid, so utterly naïve to have trusted him. _Was it all lies?_ she thought. _Everyone and everything?_

She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think at all. She just wanted to get it over with.

“Petyr Baelish, I hereby sentence you to die.”

Her stomach churned as his eyes widened in shock. There were shouts of encouragement as well as loud protests but Sansa tuned them all out. Lord Royce offered her his weapon silently. _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword…_

She reached unseeingly towards the handle, eyes still locked with Petyr. She didn’t notice she was shaking.

Suddenly there was a scream — not a scream of fright but a battle cry — and it took Sansa a second to notice the glinting edge of a sword protruding out of Petyr’s chest. As it was yanked back, blood gushed out, staining the front of his woolen coat a dark red.

He spluttered and tried to take a breath but only managed to choke on his own blood. The room was spinning. Sansa didn’t know when she had stood up.

Petyr gasped, a gurgling sound emitting from his throat, and crumpled to the floor. Red coated the grey stone.

She walked around the table as if in a trance, eyes firmly fixed on his face. He looked scared. She had never seen him look scared before. Not like this.

 _He deserves it,_ she kept telling herself. _He betrayed you, lied to you._

Petyr was squirming, his weak arms reaching up to his face. He looked desperate, like he was begging her for mercy. She could not give it to him.

He abruptly started scratching his neck, just like Joffrey had done, but it was not the same thing at all.

Sansa could do nothing but watch as his face was suddenly pulled off, revealing Arya’s tear-stained features underneath. The room had been spinning before, but now it stopped completely. There were no screams or shouts, only stunned silence.

Arya was sobbing, clutching her chest with bloodied fingers. She kept opening her mouth, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Sansa fell to her knees, the pain of the impact with the unforgiving stone floor barely even registering.

She snapped to attention and scrambled forward, putting her arms around her sister to pull her up into her lap.

She was small. _So small..._ When had Arya ever been small? Her personality had always weighed up for her short stature. But now she was dying, bleeding out. She was disappearing and Sansa could do nothing about it.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, trying to sound as reassuring and soothing as their mother used to, but her sobs was making it difficult.“ Everything’s going to be okay, I can fix this.”

Arya’s face was a blur, all Sansa’s tears were in the way. Blinking did not help this time.

She held her hand tightly, drawing comfort from the way she clutched it back, but all too soon it grew limp. Sansa could feel her heart shattering. “I just made a mistake, Arya. I didn’t know it was you… it was just a mistake. Come back and you can be angry with me, okay? Arya?”She kept talking but there was no response, not from anyone. The hall was still silent. The air was too thick to breathe.

After a time, the dead weight lying in her lap was growing cold, but Sansa didn’t mind it much. She couldn’t feel anything anymore. Her sister was dead because of her. She felt dead too.

She liked that feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY NOT SORRY ABOUT THE SUFFERING lol  
> I SO want this to happen in the show btw, not bc I don't like Arya or Petyr (because I do!!) but it would just be SUCH A SHOCKER!! it would be a red wedding kind of plot twist
> 
> I'm pretty sure ep7 won't be this tho... lmao but it was fun dreaming. Oh and I wrote this in like 2h and it's not beta-read so there's bound to be mistakes. Feel free to point it out if you spotted any!
> 
> Please leave a comment and kudos if you liked it <3  
> Check out my Tumblr: [@etherina](https://etherina.tumblr.com/)


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